


Frost

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Asshole Artemis Senior AU, Excessive Headcanoning, Implied Physical Abuse, Implied Rape/Non-con, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artemis is in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Sabra mentioned that [in our personal headcanon of Artemis having lived under the rule of an abusive Fowl Senior] that he’d be much more likely to end up in abusive relationship himself, so I wrote a thing.

Frost glitters on the ground outside the coffee shop window; Artemis toys with his cup, listening to the crowded tumble of ice cubes within. After a moment he picks it up, takes a long drink. Cold slices down through his already chilly chest: he imagines it as a blue-white lance straight down, ice crystals spreading out from its path. Across from him, the boy he’s with

(with! Artemis has come to love the word. Meaning spreads out from it now, and he loves the way his mouth moves to say it, pursed and then relaxed, tongue flexing)

warms his hands around a paper cup of coffee that steams even in the relative warmth of the shop. “You always drink it cold like that?”

(The same accent as his. But hearing it lilting from between lips that have been pressed against his own weaves a feeling of a different texture, one that warms cheeks and thighs)

“I prefer it cold. I feel it has a stronger flavor that way, fresh-brewed and then chilled.”

He looks down at the cup, then back up. Eyes are on him, those eyes that force him to do things, that make his body move on its own. Right now, the boy’s gaze is tugging Artemis’ mouth into a smile. His right cheek is still a little sore, but the redness had long since been replaced by rosy-cheeked cold. Still, the ache is sweet. They’d touched there, for only a moment, a lightning-flash of skin to skin.

“All these odd things that you like. You want to be normal, don’t you?” And, without waiting for an answer, “I want you to be normal.”

Artemis’ smile retracts, touched with the chill of this boy’s disapproval. He looks down into his cup again, wishes he hadn’t let the bitter chill of it inside of him, wishes he could spit it out, wishes he could claw himself open to prove that he would do anything, _anything_ to be what this boy

(tall, broad-shouldered, easy smile and a temper like a spark set to magnesium, burning bright and blinding and then gone, leaving glowing afterimages and bruises down Artemis’ arms)

wanted him to be.

Artemis pushed the cup away from himself and stood. “You know, you’re right. I’ll get something warm. Silly to drink it cold in this weather anyway.” The marks on his hips ached where the boy’s strong, warm hands had held him. Artemis had said no, but had been assured he’d meant yes, had wanted yes. 

That was the force of the boy’s love, that he was willing to steer Artemis onto the correct path at any cost. Bruises faded and tears dried, but being _with_ someone was love, and love was wonderful. Only a fool would set his teeth and be stubborn over something as silly as

(His father’s temper had been the same way, and it had always left the both of them hurting afterwards. Better to bend, to yield, than to force him to be so angry again)

what he ate or drank, or how often he called his mother. Why should he hurt someone he loved by making them angry? No. He wouldn’t risk what he had. Besides, he always apologized, always turned up a few hours later full of sorrow and regret and gentle kisses against the blood-lipped mouths of Artemis’ wounds.

When Artemis returned to the table, steaming drink in hand, he glanced out at the frost-touched street outside and then into his boy’s eyes. Later, they’d leave together, go home together, be together. The warmth of being in love, even a love that could leap up and burn him, was infinitely better than the chilly uncertainty of being alone.


End file.
